The Ultimate Diversion
by Jasmine2009
Summary: Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo doesn't show up for work one day and ends up becoming the target of a multi-agency manhunt.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Ultimate Diversion  
Author: Jasmine  
Universe: NCIS, Season 9  
Date: February, 2012  
Rated: PG  
Summary: Tony doesn't show up for work one day and ends up becoming the subject of a multi-agency manhunt. 

Note: The problem with writing fanfic while the show is still on the air is that the writers of the show wrap up storylines before I've had a chance to finish my fic. So, this story occurs sometime within the first three or four episodes of season 9.  
Warnings: TIVA. Like the tv show, I like to use TIVA to add another layer to my stories. This isn't a TIVA focused story, but don't read if you don't like TIVA. And gratuitous hurt/comfy (what can I say…sometimes I just feel like writing it that way).

Chapter 1

Gibbs looked over at the empty chair. Tony liked to push the envelope and show up to work on his own time, but at least he always showed up. He glanced at his watch; it was now well past any reasonable hour for making it into the office—on anyone's timetable.

Ziva noticed her boss looking at the empty desk and she exchanged a knowing glance with the only other agent in the bullpen. Neither of them knew where their colleague was, but they knew this much: Gibbs was going to be a bear to work with today. Their silver haired boss had already snarled at McGee for making a reference to a video game, and when Ziva had tried to change the topic, he had picked up his coffee and left the squad room a little more abruptly than usual, only to return ten minutes later, and in no better mood. Now, it was almost ten in the morning and Tony had not shown up for work and had not called in, and Gibbs looked pissed. She had to admit that this was unusual even for her partner's often unorthodox work habits.

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked up to see the director standing on the mezzanine, staring down at him. In his gut, he felt that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Chapter 2

Two hours had elapsed and it was now noon and still no DiNozzo.

Ziva tapped her pencil, playing scenario after scenario in her head as to where he might be. She watched the director walk across the mezzanine, descend the stairs, round the partition and stare at the empty desk. "Where is he?"

Gibbs shrugged, "He'll be here."

Ziva never liked these kinds of encounters because they never ended well.

"That's not what I asked."

Gibbs cocked his head at the terse response. "Ziva?"

"I have called his cell phone and home phone; he is not answering."

"McGee?"

Tim looked up, "Uhhh…" He hated when he couldn't figure out what his boss wanted. Tony and Ziva were much better at this than he was. "Umm."

"Did you locate his cell phone?"

"No, but I will. Right now." He punched his keyboard, feeling all eyes on him. "Sorry, Boss, no trace of it. He must have it turned off."

"I think we have a problem," Vance stated after hearing what he already knew.

Gibbs was not one to alarm easily and he wouldn't have been now except he looked over his boss' shoulder and watched as two of the FBI's finest approached.

"Gibbs," came the usual one word greeting.

"Fornell. What's brings you here?"

"One of your own. We were ordered to drop everything and locate an NCIS agent. I figured it would be too easy to show up and find him sitting at his desk, so now we have to go to plan B."

Gibbs was never one for games and now was not the time, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about DiNotzo. Where is he?"

"Why is the FBI looking for him?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. I don't question my orders, Gibbs, I just follow them."

Gibbs furrowed his brow at Vance, "What's going on?"

"I wish I knew, but you had better find your agent."

Ziva and McGee exchanged looks again, only this time it wasn't so knowing.

Fornell understood the dynamics of Gibbs' team. The Mossad officer turned NCIS agent looked worried while her male counterpart looked confused. He'd get nothing from them but he had yet to exhaust Gibbs. He continued, "You should be aware that this is a priority for the bureau. Whatever your boy has done, he's getting a lot of attention."

"What do you mean, 'done'? DiNozzo hasn't DONE anything except not show up for work today."

"Why's that?" Agent Sachs slipped in, hoping to glean some information about his nemesis' whereabouts.

Ziva was the first to notice the entrance of the CIA operative. "This can't be good," she muttered. When Gibbs looked up, it was hard to tell which emotion he possessed more: anger or disbelief.

Trent Kort looked around in his usual officious manner, focusing on the empty desk, "Where is he?"

Gibbs held out his arms and shook his head, "You mind telling me why YOU want to know?"

"Because I have orders, and I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing less than looking for your man. It'd make my life so much easier if he were sitting here right now."

"That's what I said," Fornell stated.

"Why is the CIA looking for DiNozzo?"

Kort looked at the circle of specialized agents and responded, "I don't know how NCIS works, but the CIA doesn't always give me explanations when I get my orders, Gibbs. All I know is that I'm to find him and bring him in."

Ziva and McGee kept sharing glances, dying to talk to each other. All eyes seemed to be expectantly staring at Gibbs, and they knew him well enough to know that he'd already put up a wall and there was no way Vance, the FBI, or even the CIA was going to penetrate it.

"I'll tell you what," Gibbs started. "When he comes in, I'll have him call you."

"No deal," Fornell said. "I got orders that say we don't wait for him to show. We do whatever it takes to find him and bring him in. And according to the bureau chief, we're working together on this."

"Like Hell we are—"

"—Gibbs," Vance said, "we are. This is coming directly from the SECNAV himself. All three agencies are working together to locate Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

Gibbs stared at his director, clearly not seeing him; instead, he was trying to process this latest development to his morning. Earlier, he was just plain pissed at his senior field agent for not coming into work, no doubt a victim of a late night of shooters and ladies. But as the morning turned into the afternoon, the anger gave way to worry. Now, Tony was part of an all out manhunt and he had no idea why. "Would someone mind telling me what he did?"

Thirty seconds later, when no would, or could, answer the question, Vance broke the silence and offered, "How about we find him and ask him that question."

Fornell turned serious, and before leaving, he said, "Don't forget, Gibbs. Anything you learn, you make sure you share with us."

Kort also was turning to leave when he said, "Oh, you should probably know. We have orders to shoot to kill. So if you learn anything, you'd better let us in on it if you want keep your agent alive."

The Director of NCIS and Gibbs stood in the bullpen staring after them. Vance pursed his lips and said, "Find him, Special Agent Gibbs. Cause if you don't, they will, and I don't want the paperwork associated with that."

Chapter 3

Ziva and McGee sat frozen in their chairs, not sure where to begin. Unlike their boss, they were too stunned to speak. Gibbs, on the other hand, was focused and determined; the way he usually gets when things don't make sense and he wants answers. They had better be prepared. McGee started punching keys in anticipation.

"Grab your gear; we're going to his apartment."

By the time they'd arrived at the complex, the FBI had already sealed off the area. Sachs met them in the hallway and reported, "There's no sign of your agent, and no sign of any struggle. We're dusting the place for prints and taking samples. Be careful if you go in."

Gibbs made his way through the forensics personnel and crime scene investigators and looked around. There was nothing here, he felt it. He spied Fornell taking notes off in the corner but he wasn't interested in getting an update when he knew they had nothing. He went back into the hallway and asked Sachs, "Have you located his car?"

"Yeah, it's down in the parking garage. Nothing out of the ordinary there either." Sachs wasn't accustomed to the NCIS way of doing things and thought that Gibbs' sudden departure held meaning. In the spirit of teamwork, he called out, "If you have something, Agent Gibbs, you're under orders to share it!"

McGee felt obligated to respond, "He probably doesn't have anything, Agent Sachs. It's just his way…. when he's done, he leaves. I wouldn't read anything into it."

Sachs watched him leave, wondering if there was any truth to what he'd said. Shrugging, he turned and went back to the apartment.

********************************8

Ziva tried at conversation in the car ride back to the Navy Yard, "What I do not understand is why three federal agencies are looking for him? I mean, it is not like he has done anything wrong, right?"

"It's Tony we're talking about, Ziva," McGee said from the back seat. "He might be on another assignment that we don't know about."

"He has hardly had time to recover from the last one. You don't think the Secretary of the Navy would really have him working another case, do you? I have not noticed him acting strangely lately—I take that back—I have not noticed Tony acting any stranger than normal lately."

"Boss, I put a BOLO out on him and will pull his financial records when we get back."

Gibbs didn't respond. He was lost in thought, and worry. It was not good that so many well trained law enforcement agents were after one man, no matter how skilled he was. Whatever he had done, or hadn't done, was enough to get the attention of all the wrong people. "Ziva, I want you to talk to Tony's father. See if he's heard from him."

"On it."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Gibbs was having trouble concentrating. What had Tony done? There was no evidence that he had done anything, yet he was missing and everyone was looking for him. Ziva was busy trying to locate DiNozzo, Sr., and McGee was busy pulling financials. He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing his brain to think. His eyes hurt, and his knee ached, and he suddenly got the feeling that he wasn't alone in the bullpen even though nobody else had walked in. He clicked open his phone and held it at a distance to see the keyboard. Finding his glasses, he managed to punch in a message and send it. Then, he picked up his coffee cup and left.

Both agents' cell phones dinged at the same time and they read the text: _Meet in abs lab in 10_

They shared a puzzled look knowing that there must be a reason for their boss to be texting this message instead of speaking it, but they knew they'd find out soon enough. Inconspicuously, they returned to their tasks. They only had ten minutes to prepare, so they punched even faster on their keyboards.

Abby's lab was full of music and she was nervous. "McGee! Ziva! It's about time! The whole Yard is talking about it. What's going on with Tony?"

She clicked off the music when she saw Ducky and Palmer walk in, followed by Gibbs, who was carrying an extra large Caf Pow. He picked up the remote control and clicked the music back on.

They stared at him as this wasn't exactly his type of music.

He looked around at an expectant group of people. Finally, he said, "I'm having a party tonight, and I'm inviting you all to it."

Just when they thought things couldn't be stranger.

Ducky responded, "Can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself, Duck."

Ziva collected herself quicker than the others and asked, "What time would you like us to arrive?"

"Eight o'clock."

McGee and Palmer nodded in agreement, unsure of themselves to the point of not even trying to ask a question.

"Should I bring the music?" Abby asked.

But he was already leaving and did not hear the question.

Chapter 5

Gibbs drove around the block, counting the number of cars that were surveying his house. Half of them looked liked standard FBI issue, while the other half looked like pretentious CIA vehicles. Being here meant they hadn't found Tony yet, and now he was wondering if they were looking for a missing person or trying to apprehend a fugitive. DiNozzo had been off grid for almost twelve hours and it was as if he'd vanished.

He sat in his driveway for another ten minutes before he saw the headlights pull in behind him. He got out and waited for his team to approach.

Ziva quipped, "You invite _them_ to your party?"

"No."

Ducky parked at the curb and Palmer pulled up behind him. Acknowledging the surveillance cars, Ducky echoed Ziva's comment, "I didn't realize your party was going to be so well attended and by such esteemed colleagues."

Several car doors slammed and FBI Agent Ron Sachs approached them from the left while CIA Operative Trent Kort approached from the right. Sachs looked at each member of the group before asking, "What's going on, Agent Gibbs?"

"I'm having a party. Is there something wrong with that?"

"No, except when it appears that your only guests are members of your team investigating the whereabouts of another member of your team. Interesting, at best; suspicious, at worst."

"Interesting people," Gibbs replied, "suspicious problem."

Kort suggested, "Maybe we could join the party."

"No," Gibbs answered, shaking his head, "this is a private party. But I trust you'll keep good tabs on all my guests and make sure nobody attends who's not invited."

The standoff lasted several awkward seconds before Kort finally said, "If he shows, remember what my orders are."

Gibbs shot back, "That really confuses me, Kort. Why would you have orders to shoot a missing person? That's what he is, isn't he? Or do you know something _you're_ not sharing with us?"

This got the FBI agent's attention and he turned to more squarely face the CIA operative.

"I know exactly what you know, nothing more," Kort drawled.

Planting the seed of distrust was way too easy, Gibbs thought. He turned and left.

Ducky added, "If you'll excuse us, we're going inside."

Sachs yelled after them, "If you hear from Agent DiNozzo, you're obligated to inform us!"

Once inside, Gibbs threw his keys on the table and said, "Help yourself to what's in the refrigerator."

Somehow, Ziva felt like that was a losing proposition, but she went into the kitchen anyway.

Gibbs looked around and furrowed his brow; someone was missing.

The sound of a fog horn took him to his front door and he saw Abby surrounded by five agents, all salivating at the mouth at the tall Goth. He made a mental note of this and then watched as she politely disentangled herself from the group and entered the house, asking, "Have you heard from Tony?"

"Not yet," Ducky answered.

She took off her cloak and draped it over a chair. "Where could he be? He never just leaves. I'm worried about him; are you worried? Cuz this isn't like him to just take off! You think something happened to him?"

"Calm down, Abby," Ziva soothed. "Tony is capable of taking care of himself."

"Maybe, but ever since he did that operation for the new SECNAV, he's been a bit off."

Gibbs pondered her comment while handing a beer to Ducky and one to Palmer and McGee. Ziva looked for a bottle of wine she could share with Abby, but deep down, she knew she'd never find one. She settled for hot tea. The front window allowed a nice view of the many surveillance cars.

"Ziva," Gibbs said, "have you heard from your father?"

She scrunched her brow in confusion; since when is Gibbs interested in her familial ties? But he didn't acknowledge her confusion because he was busy scrutinizing his living room and feeling around objects and looking inside things. She realized that he was searching for surveillance devices. Joining him, she answered, "I do not hear from him often," she said as she felt around the inside of the fireplace and under the mantle. "But I send him an email once a month and I assume he gets them." Her fingertips rubbed against something metal and she suddenly stopped talking just long enough to get her boss' attention. He looked down at the small electronic device that she held between her fingers. He took it, returned it to the picture frame and turned the frame so the bug was facing the speakers. He then casually mentioned, "Abby, you said you'd bring the music. Did you?"

"I did!" she said confidently and pulled a small flash drive from her purse. Smiling, she headed for an old fashioned radio with a push button 'On' switch. "Ah, Gibbs, I forgot that you don't have a stereo with a USB port."

He just smiled at her dilemma.

"Not a problem," she said, knowing he expected her to solve it. She pocketed her flash drive and reached for the large round dial. "I know just the station!" It didn't take long for her to find one she liked. With her boss' permission, she adjusted the tuner and base, turning the knob up to six, allowing many different types of percussions to fill the room.

"Tim, help me with these blinds."

McGee wondered when the last time they had been closed, given the accumulation of dust and cobwebs, but thought it best to keep his comments to himself. He had to smile at his boss when Gibbs offered a mock salute to the boys in the cars, and his smile widened when he saw their expressions. Just to be spiteful, he finger waved right before the blinds closed. Once the room was full of music and they had some degree of privacy, he quietly asked, "Ziva, McGee: What'd'ya got?"

"I pulled Tony's cell phone records," McGee started. "The last call he made was last night around nine. The number he called was registered to a Mandy Simmons."

"Mandy Simmons?" Palmer mused. "_The_ Mandy Simmons?"

McGee shrugged, not quite sure why he was interested in the name.

"She's the cover girl for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition coming out next month."

Ziva grudgingly answered, "Yes. She is also the woman Tony has been seeing."

Palmer and Ducky shared a smile.

"I ran down the other numbers on his cell phone and there was nothing unusual about any of them."

Gibbs looked at Ziva, silently commanding her to report.

"I called his father and he has not heard from Tony nor has he seen Tony since the 'little misunderstanding' last month. I then called Tony's usual hang outs, and one of the bartenders said he remembered seeing him last night and that he left with a beautiful blonde around midnight."

"Did you confirm the identity of the blonde?"

"Yes, he left with Mandy Simmons."

"You talk to her?"

"Yes, she confirms that she went back to his place after they left the bar. Then, this morning, around six o'clock, she claims they both left his apartment at the same time. She left for a photo shoot for Maxim magazine, and he, for his morning run. I confirmed that she did indeed attend a photo session this morning with the popular men's magazine."

"Jimmy, did you do what I asked?"

"Yessir. I talked to my friend at the FBI, Melissa; she's the lab technician there. She has the evidence but there's nothing unusual about it."

It all felt like a dead-end. Watching Gibbs scratch his head and pace around didn't help either. There had been no food to eat, at least none that was thawed, and no snacks to while away the time, only beer. Unsuccessful at locating any wine, Ziva had helped herself to a beer and had handed one to Abby. The music blared in the background as they sat around the living room in silence.

Gibbs went through all the facts again in his head. Tony was last seen this morning at six o'clock. Vance must have known something was wrong by ten o'clock, and by noon, the FBI and CIA were on the prowl for his agent. So who would have known he was missing before ten o'clock, and who has the authority to pull in both those agencies to find him? The Secretary of the Navy.

The living room held too many past memories which interfered with his deductive reasoning powers, and so he said, "Grab another beer if you want," and motioned with his finger for everyone to follow him.

One by one, they descended the steps to his basement where he turned on a single bulb that illuminated the room with a soft incandescent light. Ducky commented, "Do you think the boys in black have bought the idea that we're listening to gothic music and drinking beer?"

Abby answered, "I, for one, don't care. I like coming over here to party. You should do this more often, Gibbs." The chill of the basement forced her to drape her cape around her shoulders.

"Remember, Ms. Scuito," Ducky said helping her with her cape, "we are trying to locate one of our own."

The first thing Gibbs noticed was his bottle of Jack Daniels was missing.

The second thing he noticed was a tool slightly askew.

And the third thing he noticed was a red smudge on his workbench.

"What's wrong?" Ziva whispered. "Do you think they bugged down here?" She shot furtive glances around the myriad of places a bug could be hidden.

"No," the voice came from the shadows, startling everyone into a 180 degree turn. "It's clean down here. I've already checked."

They stared through the ribs of the unfinished boat to the darkness under the steps. McGee was closest to the voice and squinted his eyes to get a better look. "Tony?"

Gibbs pulled another chain which sent even more light around the room, and there, sitting in a small alcove was his senior field agent with a half empty bottle of booze resting on his leg.

McGee was taken aback by his appearance, "Tony? Are you okay?"

"Tim, let this be a lesson to you. Don't take home swimsuit models on a school night."

Ziva stepped forward and repeated, "Are you okay?"

"This is the best I've felt all day," he slurred.

McGee could barely make out his features, but his clothes were ripped and stained and he was balancing the bottle precariously on his thigh. McGee grabbed it before it could slip from his hands and shatter on the cement floor. "Let me help you."

Ziva went to his other side, asking, "What happened to you? Who did this?" At first, she didn't notice the wet fabric, but as she helped him off the stool and out of the alcove, she felt the cold moisture on her hand. When she looked down, she was covered in blood.

Tony moved his head from side to side slowly, "I have no idea."

"You are bleeding… a lot!"

After leaning him up against the boat, McGee and Ziva stepped aside to allow Gibbs and Ducky better access. "Maybe you had better lie down," Ducky said, looking around for some place to get his patient prone.

Two saw-horses were quickly positioned and three planks of wood were laid side-by-side and before Tony could protest, he was being lowered onto the makeshift table.

"Tony," Gibbs said, talking to him while Ducky checked his eyes. "Do you know who did this?"

"His pupils aren't responsive."

"Do you know what they wanted?" Gibbs asked.

Ducky had already observed the large blood stain on his back and after inspecting his abdomen, he said, "Roll him over, gently." Pulling back his shirt he saw the wound, "It looks like you've been shot, my boy." Not bothering to wait for a response, he issued orders, "I need some clean towels, disinfectant and bandages. And a blanket."

Abby and Gibbs dispersed, allowing Palmer to step in to assist. Dr. Mallard continued, "Mr. Palmer, do you see this hole in the fabric where the bullet entered?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"What do you make of it?"

Jimmy scrutinized it, seeing the frayed and burnt edge, but not being able to make out much more than it was a hole. Whatever Dr. Mallard saw, it was obvious to the medical assistant that he wasn't quite ready to share.

Ziva used her sleeve to wipe away some blood that had pooled around his eye, "Tony?"

He turned his head to see her better.

She smiled, "You are going to be okay now." She let her fingers linger longer than they should have.

His head was spinning from the alcohol and his body was numb from the pain, but he mustered enough strength to nod slowly. He was in good hands now and he just wanted to close his eyes and make the pain go away. Every time he hinted at such, though, it seemed like someone touched an area on his body that sent sharp pains coursing through him. In the midst of a sudden jolt, he'd catch glimpses of his attackers in his mind's eye.

"Tony, don't go to sleep; you probably have a concussion," Mallard said, using a pair of scissors to cut parts of his clothing off so he could continue to assess the man's injuries. Standing back, he looked at Gibbs and said, "He needs medical attention, Jethro. Whoever did this, shot him in the back. He needs antibiotics, not to mention that bullet needs to come out."

"Can you do it?"

Ducky pulled back a beat, wondering if the man was serious. "He needs a hospital and doctors and –"

"—That's not what I asked, Ducky. Can YOU do it?"

The look in Gibbs' eyes forced him to rethink the feasibility of removing the bullet without the benefit of a sterilized medical facility and all that comes with it. "I don't have any instruments. I don't have any anesthetic—"

"Ducky, if we let those men outside know he's here, they'll take him away, and that's no good. Is he in immediate danger?"

Ducky stared at his patient. That question was unreasonable to ask because he was in danger, just not the kind that hinged on imminent death… yet. "Jethro, I understand what your concerns are, but I doubt I can treat him here, under these conditions."

Gibbs' eyes all but pleaded with the doctor to reconsider.

"… However, I'll see what I can do, BUT on one condition, Jethro. If his vitals start to go south, we call an ambulance." Under his breath he finished, "and I pray I don't lose him, or my license."

"Agreed."

Ziva dabbed away some more blood that had pooled around the corners of his mouth and listened to them talk. Her partner's eyes were telling her that he was well aware of the conversation. She leaned down and whispered, "We're not going to turn you over to anyone, Tony."

He tried to acknowledge her comment, but all he could muster was a weak smile.

"I'll need to get my instruments, at the very least," Ducky said. "And I'll need some antibiotics, and something for the pain."

Abby offered, "I have ether."

"You have what?" McGee asked, flabbergasted.

Details were not the issue right now, so Gibbs shot back, "Where?"

"At my apartment."

There was a momentary pause as people digested the fact that Abby keeps ether at her place, but given the circumstances, it was concern for another time.

After much discussion over a short period of time, a plan was hatched. In order to make it work, Abby would need to distract the agents with innocuous conversation so Palmer and McGee could leave and collect the necessary materials.

"Ready?" McGee asked Abby.

"Always. Just remember what I told you about my apartment. I keep the ether in my closet on the floor next to my bowling ball. It's not labeled or anything, so—"

"I think I can find it, Abby," he replied, turning a slight shade of red.

Ducky handed a piece of paper to Palmer and asked, "Do you remember how to get to my Brownstone?"

He nodded, hoping he did since he'd only been there once and that was back when he had moved in.

"This is a list of everything I'll need. You'll find most of it in my black bag located in my study, but some of it will be in my office. This is the bare minimum so don't forget anything."

"I understand, Doctor." He looked at McGee and Abby, wondering if they felt as nervous as he did, then he gave a passing look backwards at Tony, whose eyes were glazed and breathing labored. Palmer sucked up his courage and said, "I'm ready." The three of them ascended the stairs.

Abby walked out first and went straight for her car. She was greeted by the same four agents who earlier were intrigued by her ways. "Hi," she smiled at them, remembering only one name out of the four. "Have you seen my cape, Agent Banks?"

Palmer and McGee walked somberly out of the house, not too far a stretch from how they actually felt.

"Where are they going?" one of the agents asked. "Is the party already over?" another said, taking a step away.

Abby quickly answered, "Oh no! They're just going for a pizza run!" Grabbing their attention again, she smoozed, "You don't know anything about Leroy Jethro Gibbs, do you? If you did, you'd know that he doesn't keep anything in his house to eat."

One of the agents looked at her skeptically and said, "You don't seem too worried about Agent DiNozzo anymore."

"Oh! On the contrary! We're very worried about him, but we can't think on empty stomachs and there's really nothing for us to do but wait for him to be found." She waved at her colleagues as they drove off. "Well, I can't find my cape. I must have left it somewhere inside. Bye!" and she left them standing around her car.

Ziva noticed Tony's eyes again, wider than normal, dilated, and obviously anxious about what he had heard.

"How 'bout giving me another drink?"

"I will ask Ducky."

"Don't ask, just do it."

She pondered the request and was glad when she heard Abby coming down the steps. "They get off okay?" Ziva asked.

"As planned. Those agents are clueless."

"Abby?" Tony whispered.

She looked down on the patient and smiled lovingly, "Yeah?"

"Get me a drink, Abs. Please?"

She and Ziva exchanged looks and then they glanced over at Ducky and Gibbs, both of whom seemed to be in deep discussion. "Okay," Abby said, "but only a small one."

Gibbs watched his forensic scientist give his senior field agent a small swig of whiskey. It reminded him of another time; a time that didn't include any members of his team. Turning his attention back to Ducky, he whispered, "How bad is he?"

"In a hospital with a team of doctors? Not bad. Here, in your basement with nothing but me and Mr. Palmer? Bad."

"Can you tell me anything about his injuries?"

"Take a look at this." They moved across the room to Tony's side, obviously interrupting the girls' clandestine offering.

Abby held the bottle of Jack and Ziva stumbled for words, "We were… we thought…. He asked for some…"

"It's okay," the doctor replied, "It helps with the pain."

After Tony choked down a mouthful, Ducky took his right arm and turned it, exposing his forearm. Several small cuts were evident. "Does this look familiar?"

Gibbs looked closer and said, "Gaynes?"

Ducky nodded, "I can't be sure, but look at the rest of the cuts." They studied Tony's arms and legs and even his neck and found small quarter inch slits everywhere.

"Ducky," Tony hissed. "You got anything for the pain?"

"It's coming, my boy. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Gibbs studied his agent, who was undoubtedly struggling to either remember, or get comfortable.

"I never got a good look at them. They came from behind."

Ziva asked, "How many?"

"Four… I think."

"How'd you escape?"

Tony laughed, until the pain caused him to gasp. "I didn't. They threw me out of their van. When I stood up, they shot me."

"How'd you make your way back here?"

Tony grimaced and swallowed. "I... uh… stole a car. When I saw all the government issued POS's staked out around your house, I parked and waited for it to get dark."

Ducky re-arranged the bandage around his side and said, "You've done very well, Tony, but there is still one question you haven't answered."

He swallowed, already anticipating the question because it's what he would want to know.

"What did they want?" Ducky asked.

He coughed, grimacing as the sharp pain coursed through his side.

Ducky lifted his head and gave him another swallow of Jack Daniels. It must have burned going down.

Gibbs leaned in and repeated, "What did they want, Tony?"

"They…. They wanted information about the Black Ops program."

"What did you tell them?"

"Everything. Everything I knew, at least."

Only Gibbs understood the double meaning. "In other words, you told them nothing."

"Yeah. I don't know anything. I'm not even sure why the SECNAV chose me to track down Cade."

"Was it Stratton?"

"I don't know. I never saw their faces."

"Did you recognize any voices?"

"No."

"Think, Tony. Was there anything about them that was familiar? Something they said, or a name they used?"

Ducky interrupted, "Jethro," he consoled. "He's in considerable pain and this isn't helping."

A faint but quick rapping at the front door ended the questioning. Gibbs left, giving Tony's shoulder a slight squeeze before he took the steps two at a time and opened his door to a pizza delivery boy. Standing behind the very nervous boy were two agents.

"The kid says you ordered a pizza."

Gibbs bristled, "Yeah. What's a party without some food?"

"We have to inspect it."

Gibbs shrugged and fished out his wallet.

The pizza boy looked dazed and scared all rolled into one deer-in-the-headlight expression. He opened his insulated case and pulled out the box and opened it, allowing the steam to escape and the agents' nostrils to fill momentarily with the aroma of cheese, sausage, onions and peppers.

Gibbs thought if they were capable of drooling, they'd be doing it.

Annoyed, the agents gave Gibbs a long exasperated glare before turning and leaving him to pay the boy.

"You ordered three," the boy said, "I guess they didn't want to stay around to inspect the others?"

Gibbs handed him several bills and said, "I guess not. Keep it."

After the pizza driver had cleared the driveway, McGee and Palmer pulled in. They emerged carrying bags of food. The same two agents approached and asked, "What'cha got there?"

"Some Chinese food. Can't have a party without food," McGee said.

"A pizza was just delivered," the agent said skeptically.

Palmer smiled, "Finally, Agent Gibbs is listening to me! You all can eat your Chinese and I'll eat my pizza." He tried to push past the agents but they weren't buying it.

Standing firm one of them observed, "You've got enough food there to feed everyone inside and all of us out here."

McGee smiled and said, "I tell you what. If we have leftovers, we'll bring 'em out to you."

"Funny," the non-amused agent said. "Open 'em up."

Palmer and McGee looked at each other and shrugged. Unfurling the brown paper bags, they pulled out container after container of Chinese food. McGee opened the first one and waved it under the agents' noses, allowing the scent of Lo Mein to fill their nostrils. One by one, each container was opened and its contents inspected in the shadows of the street lights.

Gibbs watched from the door, wondering just how much food they brought. He held his breath when his team was patted down and released it when they walked towards him.

Ziva wiped off her partner's face again. She had rearranged his pillows several times, but he simply couldn't get comfortable. He had wanted to sit up, but Ducky had nixed the idea, explaining that shock was a real concern. They had elevated his feet but nothing offered relief. Seeing her partner in such pain was disconcerting and she looked to Abby for some ideas.

"Tony," Abby said, "I think I hear them upstairs. It'll just be a few more minutes and Ducky will be able to get that bullet out."

He listened, but didn't acknowledge, opting to concentrate on swallowing and breathing.

Ziva added, "I cleaned your wounds as best I could. You will be happy to know that you should not have too much scarring. At least that is what Ducky says."

Again, he listened, but didn't acknowledge. He thought back on the tender way she had cleaned his cuts and checked his wounds. Then he remembered the time he had caught her eye; she had been staring at him and looked away, embarrassed. She was different, somehow. It was like she was feeling the same pain that he was. Even Abby looked concerned, more so than usual. The two of them saw something he didn't. "What is it?"

"What is what?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Abby hedged, "Well, for someone who's just been beaten up, you still look pretty good."

Ziva smiled and nodded, "She is right. Even through the swelling, you are still very handsome."

He swallowed and shook his head, "That's not what I meant."

Thankful for the commotion on the steps, Abby said, "Your questions are going to have to wait, Tony. I think our food is here."

Ducky looked dismayed at the men and asked, "Where is my bag?"

"We had to leave it. But I got all your instruments, Dr. Mallard."

"Where?"

Palmer opened up the first container of Chinese food and poured the contents into a bowl. There at the bottom, wrapped in plastic, was a scalpel. The next container hid his tweezers, the next, cat gut, and so on until all the containers had been emptied of their various contents and plastic wrapped tools were deposited on the workbench.

"Where's my stethoscope?"

McGee opened the pizza box and lifted out the pizza. Underneath it was a plastic wrapped arm cuff and stethoscope.

"Quite ingenious, my boy. Who thought of this?"

"Well, McGee thought of packing the Chinese food containers and I thought of the pizza box since I knew the delivery guy. He's working his way through med school and he owed me a favor.

"Where is the ether?" Abby asked.

McGee very carefully pulled the vial from a bag containing spring rolls and handed it over. Ducky examined it and explained, "There was a time when surgeons said that anyone can give ether. Unfortunately, they've discovered much since then."

Gibbs asked, "Is it dangerous?"

"It's not so apt to kill a patient on the table as it is to kill him days later."

Tony swallowed and tried to get comfortable, a goal that seemed to grow increasingly more difficult as time passed. "How 'bout giving me some now?"

Ducky walked away, ignoring his patient and seemingly deep in thought, leaving the rest of them to stare at the mounds of Chinese food and pizza boxes that adorned the boat table. Palmer couldn't stand it any longer and said, "I haven't eaten all day. Does anyone mind if I—" he stopped when his mind registered their expressions. "I'm sorry. You're right. This is not the time to be thinking about food—"

"Palmer. Go ahead and eat."

Since Gibbs was the one who gave him permission, he hesitantly walked towards the steps waiting for someone to admonish him, but when he heard nothing, he took the steps two at a time and returned a minute later with several plates, "I figured someone else might be hungry too."

McGee shrugged and took one. Noticing Abby's stare, he stopped. If her narrowed eyes weren't telepathing her words, the hands on her hips were. "What?" he protested, "I haven't eaten all day."

Gibbs listened, wondering if McGee would actually take anything under the glare of the scientist's stare.

"Tony, are you hungry?" Ziva asked.

He shook his head.

"That is good. I doubt Ducky would let you eat anything if you were."

Gibbs observed the doctor. Something was wrong but aside from the obvious, he didn't know what. It felt like he was ready to pull the plug on this entire medical procedure.

"What's wrong, Duck?" Gibbs said, whispering so as not to worry anyone.

"I'm not sure. Mr. Palmer, did you take his vitals?"

Jimmy nodded while stuffing noodles of Chow Mein into his mouth. "Yash," he said, chewing quickly and swallowing. "Yes, Doctor. I wrote them down on this." He handed over a piece of paper and Ducky studied the numbers.

"I can't give him ether," he finally stated.

"Why not?"

"Because ether gets absorbed through the lungs and I have no way of regulating it here. Too little, and he'll be too nauseated to operate on; too much, and he could go into respiratory arrest."

"What are you saying?" Gibbs asked, feeling the pangs of frustration building.

"I'm saying that I don't feel comfortable using this on a man who nearly died from the plague several years back. I simply can't risk it."

"Ducky, that bullet's gotta come out."

"The bullet's the least of my worries, Jethro."

"What?"

"A bullet will often sterilize itself leaving the barrel. There was a time when doctors thought it was important to remove a bullet. Some doctors even believe that President James A. Garfield was killed not by the actual bullet, but by the probing for the bullet. In Garfield's day, doctors would probe gunshot wounds in the belief that if they could remove the bullet everything would be fine. Today we know a hot bullet is self-sterilizing. Garfield's real problem was the ill-advised, ill-directed poking with non sterile instruments by every doctor who entered the sickroom. All that meddling introduced more bacteria into Garfield's body. When the doctor finally located the bullet during an autopsy on Garfield's body, they found it lodged in the back muscle, a far less dangerous place than they had thought. During his trial Charles Guiteau claimed he hadn't killed the President, the doctors had; he was probably right."

"Ducky…"

"What I'm saying is I'm more worried about foreign objects in his body. Like a small piece of fabric that's missing from his shirt could most likely be lodged inside Tony's body."

"Can you remove it?"

"_That_ is the question, Jethro. Tony's not in any imminent danger from the bullet as we've effectively stopped the bleeding, but he is in danger of infection. The small amount of antibiotics I have here isn't nearly enough to ward off any infection that might set in."

"Can you get more?"

"Unfortunately, my patients don't usually require antibiotics."

Tony coughed, sending spasms of pain coursing through his body. "Ducky?" he said when the pain had subsided. "Can't you just get this slug out of me?"

The doctor patted his shoulder and pondered the request. It was understandable that he wanted the bullet removed. "The operation would be fairly simple if only I had some antibiotics and a means to give it to you."

Palmer hit his head as if he were the dumbest person on earth, "I know where we can get those things!"

All eyes turned to face him.

"I have another buddy who's doing his residency at George Washington Hospital. He owes me even more than Tom, the pizza guy, did."

Abby scrunched up her face and inquired, "What do you do for these guys, Palmer?"

"Go!" Gibbs ordered, "Get it!"

"I'll do better than that. I'll have it delivered!" He flipped open his phone and speed dialed. The one-sided conversation left everyone slightly more than a little curious, and it also elevated Palmer's status on the ladder of respect a few notches. "Hang on, Tony. It'll be here in thirty minutes."

True to his word, thirty minutes later the door bell rang and Gibbs answered it. Standing before him was a young man holding two boxes of pies from Baker's Bakery, the most prestigious pastry shop in all of DC. "Do you mind?" Gibbs said, addressing the agents whose officious manner was beginning to irritate him.

"We do because it's our job to check out anything and everything that comes or leaves your house," Sachs explained, feeling a little stupid standing behind another delivery boy.

"Did you find anything?"

"What are you doing in there, Agent Gibbs?" Sachs asked, suspiciously. "One of your team goes MIA and you throw a party?"

Gibbs paid the delivery boy and took the boxes, "We still have to eat." He offered them a slight smirk before slamming the door on them.

Gibbs pulled out one pie and slowly peeled back the crust. Well hidden inside the double deep dished apple strudel crumb pie were three vials of M34FA solution and three syringes. Palmer picked out the slimy items and then carefully removed them from the sealed bag his buddy had put them in. The next pie contained an IV bag and hoses, which Ducky took and did the same.

Eyeing the deep dished apple strudel crumb pie, McGee said, "You think it would be okay to eat a piece?"

Abby looked aghast, but instead of replying, she just narrowed her eyes again at his selfish request.

"McGee!" Gibbs interrupted. "Get over here and hold this." Within five minutes, Gibbs had pulled together enough spare wood to fashion a makeshift pole with an arm to hold the bag of fluid. Ducky attached the bag to the hanger and turned his attention to Tony's arm. He felt around for a vein and with deft fingers, slid the needle in and taped it down. "This should work fine until we can get him professional care."

Gibbs glared, knowing that was an impossibility.

Thinking out loud, Ducky said, "It's going to be rough without anesthesia, and not just on him."

Ziva and Palmer shared a glance. They both knew what it meant to operate on someone who hadn't been properly anesthetized.

Tony squeezed Ziva's hand a little harder. It was obvious he had heard. "Don't go anywhere," he whispered.

Ziva wiped the sweat off his brow and soothed, "Don't worry. I am not leaving you."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 6

Ziva's stomach knotted, so much so that she found herself chewing on her fingernails, a habit she thought she had overcome long ago. Now that they'd adjusted Tony's makeshift operating table, she was preparing herself for the pending surgery. She felt Abby come over and stand next to her, and she wondered if the scientist was as nervous as she was. Glancing up at her, it became obvious who was more nervous. She wished she had some words of encouragement because she would have used them on herself, but there wasn't anything to be said, so like her Gothic friend, she silently stared down on the prone man, waiting for it all to begin.

Without being able to use the ether, Ducky had to concoct something that would allow him to operate without the benefit of an unconscious patient. What he had devised looked like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story.

Gibbs studied his senior field agent. Pale, flinty eyes, and shallow breathing. If Ducky didn't call this off, he just might. "Tony?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"You know that Ducky's going to get that bullet out."

"Yeah."

"And you know he's decided against using any anesthetic."

Tony nodded.

"You're probably gonna feel some discomfort."

Tony chortled, "_Some_ discomfort? Clearly you and I have different definitions of the word _some_."

"Okay, maybe a little more than some, but he suspects you'll pass out."

"DiNozzo's don't pass out."

Ducky remembered him telling Kate that once a long time ago. Smiling at the memory, he explained, "Anthony, it's okay to pass out; in fact, I would prefer it. It'll make what I have to do a little easier."

Tony swallowed, "This reminds me of "My Brother's Keeper", a 1943 spaghetti western." Staring up at the ceiling, he continued, "Not really anyone's best work—"

"Tony?"

Ignoring his name, he continued, "—but it chronicles the plight of one brother having to save another from certain death in the Wild West. It gets complicated when a doctor isn't available, and the medicine is stolen and held for ransom. East versus West; civilization versus barbarism."

"Tony," Ziva whispered again, wiping down his face from the accumulated sweat. "No acts of barbarism are going to take place tonight."

Ducky patted his patient's shoulder again, feeling strangely reassured by the movie reference. "She's right, Tony. Not tonight."

Sobering slightly, Tony looked straight at the doctor and said, "Just get it over with."

After a sincere nod, the doctor stood back and examined the make shift operating table. He wasn't sure how they did it, but they had managed to elevate the table so he didn't have to bend over too much. Then he began to inspect the set-up that was going to ensure immobilization of his patient since he had ruled out the use of a pain killer. "Interesting contraption, Jethro. Care to explain how this will keep my patient perfectly still?"

Gibbs deferred to McGee, who had masterminded the plan. "Well, Ducky, these belts will loop around Tony's wrists, like this." He took a regular man's leather belt that he'd confiscated from Gibbs' closet and looped it around Tony's wrist and tightened it gently. Using an awl, Gibbs punched a hole through the leather so the metal pin could slide through. He did this to both wrists, half expecting some smart ass remark from his colleague, but Tony didn't seem to be interested. "Once both wrists are secure, we anchor the ends under the table, like this." He threaded the strap through a slit in the wood that Gibbs had made earlier. Reaching underneath the table, he secured the ends. What he secured them to and how they were secured was something only he and Gibbs seemed to know. Standing back up, he asked, "Tony, try and move your arms."

He tried but they were effectively rendered useless.

"That's good," Ducky said, "now, what about his legs?"

"Same thing, Ducky. We'll secure his ankles together and anchor the belts under the table."

Abby wished she could do something, but her area of expertise wasn't needed. She rubbed Tony's arm and shoulder, wondering what he must be thinking about all this. If it were her, she'd be freaking out at the thought of it, but Tony seemed to be taking it all right.

Ducky checked his legs and hands but it was evident he wasn't satisfied. "This won't keep him immobilized. When I take a scalpel to him, he's going to jump and I can't have that. One slip and I'll be spending time repairing the damage I've done instead of getting that bullet out."

Gibbs went to his workbench and rummaged underneath it. He pulled out a cardboard box whose top had collapsed in on itself. He spent a few seconds digging around inside before pulling out several sets of faded tie downs, complete with ratchet clamps and hooks. "Will this work?"

Ziva took one look at them and turned away, strategically placing her body in Tony's line of vision so he couldn't glimpse the straps. To her, they were common instruments used to extract information from stubborn prisoners—not particularly nice tools as far as she was concerned. She stroked Tony's cheek and whispered, "We are going to take good care of you."

"They'll do," Ducky reluctantly said. "I want one set holding down his mid-section, and the other set holding down his torso."

McGee untangled the wide corded ribbon and let it drop to the floor. With Gibbs' help, he laid the strap across Tony's hips. Reaching under the table, he grabbed the end Gibbs was holding out and connected the two ends together. Using the ratchet, he tightened the strap down.

"Careful, Tim, not too tight," Ducky said while keeping two fingers between the strap and Tony's body.

Satisfied that Tony wasn't moving his lower body, they repeated the procedure only they positioned the second strap across his chest. Using the ratchet, McGee tightened it down.

"Probie!" Tony hissed, "I still have to breathe!"

"Sorry," McGee said, quickly releasing some tension. "How's that?"

"Unfortunately, Tony, it's almost more important that you're immobile than breathing, at least for the first few minutes," Ducky explained.

At this point, there wasn't anything more to do but wait for the surgery to begin. Palmer and Ducky scrubbed in the deep sink for the requisite three minutes with some unknown soap while McGee, Gibbs and Abby anxiously watched. Ziva kept vigil next to her partner, dabbing away sweat and offering words of encouragement.

"What can we do, Ducky," Abby asked, as the doctor and Palmer approached the make-shift operating table.

"Pray."

Chapter 7

Dr. Mallard looked across the table at his assistant. "Are you ready, Mr. Palmer?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Ziva?"

She nodded and placed the whiskey soaked fabric between Tony's teeth.

"Tony?"

He grunted his answer, knowing it didn't make a difference.

"This is going to be tricky." He pushed up the sheet that had been draped over Tony's chest, exposing his stomach. Tony's sweatpants had been nudged down allowing access to his entire right side. "The bullet entered into his back…here, which means if it had gone straight through, it would have exited his body approximately here." He pointed to an area on Tony's stomach, nearer to his side. Much to his patient's dismay, Ducky pressed, using his fingertips to feel for the metal object.

"Aeyy!" he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, Tony, but this is necessary." He continued to probe ignoring the pain filled moans and writhing from his patient until he felt the depth of the bullet.

Palmer poured antiseptic on the spot where the doctor had pushed, coloring the skin a bright orange. After scrubbing it for a full minute, he nodded. Ducky picked up a scalpel and hesitated. "Jethro, please tighten these straps."

Ziva stroked her partner's neck, trying to take his mind off things but knowing she wasn't doing such a great job of it.

Gibbs ratcheted first the strap across his hips, not getting much resistance from Tony at how tight it was. Then he ratcheted the strap across his chest worrying he was making it too tight.

"Keep going," Ducky said.

Gibbs shifted his weight, hesitating a moment while weighing his options. Being on the receiving end of a stern Mallard glare encouraged him to comply, and he tightened the strap another notch. It was so taut that he could see it cutting into Tony's chest. A particularly resigned stare from the doctor forced him to take it another notch, only it was so tight now he didn't have the strength necessary to lock the clamp shut.

McGee stepped in beside his boss and together, they were able to click the ratchet closed. They stayed near the handle, waiting for orders to release it.

"…iwaa?" Tony croaked after spitting out the fabric.

"I'm right here, Tony."

"I can't… breath."

She picked up the fabric, saying, "It's necessary; I'm sorry," and poured more whiskey on it. She returned it gently to his mouth, ensuring his teeth were well protected.

Ducky had been waiting for the moment when Tony was thinking about something other than what he going to do with his knife, and that's when he plunged the scalpel into Tony's abdomen.

He bucked, gasping for air. The suddenness of the move caught Ziva off guard. "Tony!"

"Keep him still!" Ducky toned, concentrating on reaching the bullet.

Palmer dabbed away the blood, positioned the light and handed instruments as requested, trying to ignore that the man on the table had a heart beat and was very much conscious.

Ducky moved meticulously, making expert incisions and carefully ensuring he didn't make any mistakes while ignoring the condition of his patient who, for the most part, was immobile. The interesting thing about being a surgeon is it's easy to block everything from your mind except the objective. Right now, the objective was extracting the bullet; he'd have to let his colleagues take care of everything else.

Gibbs touched Tony's leg, hoping he could take away some pain. He saw Ziva looking to him for advice, but there was nothing anyone could do. Tony would have to slip into unconsciousness, a condition that looked far from being achieved.

Abby had buried her head into McGee's shoulder, not bearing to listen to the muffled cries or see the blood, and McGee held her, thankful that she shielded his eyes from the gruesome theatre. Thankful at least until she pulled away and made her way towards the stairs where she sat on the first step, holding her knees and closing her eyes and ears to the sights and the sounds of the operation.

Not enough time had passed when she lifted her head and asked, "Does anyone hear that?"

McGee walked nearer to her and nodded, "Yeah. Boss, someone's at your door."

"Damnit. Ziva, you keep him quiet!" Gibbs ordered, then he took the steps two at a time.

Ziva looked at her colleagues for support, but all she got were blank stares. Tony wasn't making this easy and he kept spitting out the rag, allowing his groans to reverberate inside the basement walls.

"Ziva!" McGee said, worried that the sounds could be heard. "Can't you do anything?"

"I am trying!" she answered. She rubbed her partner's face, hoping it would be enough to divert his attention off the pain. She whispered, "Tony, it will be over soon. Please, you have to stop making so much noise!"

McGee and Abby exchanged glances. If the FBI or CIA was given so much as the smallest reason to search the place, they'd do it. McGee stepped forward, ready to cup his hand over Tony's mouth but stopped when he caught the Mossad's expression. "Well?! Do something!"

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing McGee's way was definitely wrong, she did the only thing that came to her: she leaned over her partner and planted her lips firmly on his.

Abby and McGee and even Palmer weren't too sure what they were more surprised at: the kiss, or the fact that it was actually working.

"Mr. Palmer!"

"Sorry, Doctor."

She didn't stop kissing him for a full minute, but it was long enough to know his breathing had changed. When she ultimately pulled her lips away, he was unconscious. "Finally," she whispered. She stroked his face again and looked up. Staring at her was— everyone. How was she going to explain this? "Ah, Gibbs, I am sorry… I needed to divert his attention… I know you have rules, but I did not know what else to do! He was in so much pain and making so much noise—"

"—I know, Ziva." He nodded and added, "Good girl."

Chapter 8

Ducky dropped the bullet into the mug and it rolled around before it came to rest on its side. He returned his attention back to the incision and using a pair of needle-nosed tweezers, extracted a small piece of fabric that had lodged itself into the soft tissue. "There you are! If it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't be here right now." He dropped everything into the mug and said, "Let's get that antiseptic on him and close him up, Mr. Palmer."

Ziva continued to stroke the unconscious man's face, never having allowed herself to step away after she had promised him she wouldn't. She watched intently as Jimmy wasted no time running sutures through his skin, using special care to be a neat as possible. When it was done, he stepped back.

Dr. Mallard checked his patient's vitals and inspected his assistant's work. "Nicely done. Our patient has a strong heartbeat, and his blood pressure, temperature, and breathing all fall within normal limits. Unfortunately, I wouldn't get too ahead of ourselves; he's far from out of the woods."

Tony looked peaceful, color had returned to his face and the muscles in his body had relaxed. If the light had been dimmer, even the bruising around his eyes would have been hidden. There was a comfortable silence as Ducky and Palmer cleaned up from the operation. Gibbs finally announced, "It's after midnight." When no one responded, he added, "You all should be leaving."

"Yeah," Abby acquiesced, reluctantly. "I guess I should be going." She gave no hint of moving towards the door; instead, she looked sad and asked, "Is he going to be okay?"

Ducky nodded, "I think so. He's strong and, considering the circumstances, the surgery went remarkably well."

She nodded, offering a half hearted smile while studying the patient.

Ziva stated, "I will stay here and watch him tonight. If he wakes, I will be here."

"No you won't."

"Gibbs, someone has to take care of him."

"How is it going to look when everyone leaves my house—except you?"

"Oh, I had not thought about that."

Ducky was finishing up another check of his patient when he added, "You have to admit, though, it would be quite entertaining to give them something to talk about."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

***********************8

Gibbs felt relief at being alone again—except he wasn't alone. Ducky had left him with explicit instructions regarding everything Tony, from changing the IV bag, to checking his respiration. He pulled up a chair and sat down. His patient was breathing steadily, his body initiating the process of healing itself. With the help of the antibiotics, Ducky thinks he should make a full recovery.

Until the next time.

"Why were you taken, Tony? What did they want?"

There was no answer, of course. His agent lay sleeping, passed out from the physical exertion of fighting the straps and the mental exertion of dealing with the pain. The tie-downs had long since been removed, but not the belts that tied his legs and wrists. He bent down under the table and unhooked them, removing the leather from Tony's wrists and ankles, rubbing each one to encourage circulation. Following Ducky's instructions, he reached over and laid his hand gently on Tony's forehead. Good sign, no fever.

"Okay, Tony, you're gonna be fine." He said more to convince himself than his house guest.

Chapter 9

Gibbs was startled awake by a noise. He rolled off the plank and forced the cobwebs from his head. His first thought came out his mouth, "Tony?"

"Boss?"

Stumbling to his agent's side, he asked, "How're ya feeling?"

"Not so good. I think I'm gonna be sick…"

Gibbs grabbed a bucket and helped Tony roll over. There was nothing in his stomach, but that didn't stop the wave of nausea. Exhausted, he laid back, catching his breath and fighting off the pain in his gut. "Was Ducky… was he successful?"

"Yeah. He got the bullet out, and the piece of fabric. You're hooked up to antibiotics now."

Tony lulled his head and it was evident he was fighting off more nausea. "Breathe through it, Tony, I'll be right back." He set the bucket on the floor and rubbed his hands over his face before he ascended the steps towards hot water and coffee. When he returned, he was carrying two mugs, but it looked as though his senior field agent had fallen back asleep. He watched the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest while sipping on the hot liquid.

"Boss?"

"Yeah."

Tony didn't say another word.

"Here, I brought you some coffee." He helped him take a sip, but it did not set well. "Keep it down, Tony. Try to, at least."

Tony swallowed multiple times, concentrating on anything but how much his stomach was rejecting the liquid.

"I have to go into the office today. If I don't, they'll get suspicious." Gibbs studied his senior field agent. "You'll be okay. I'll check on you in a couple hours."

He nodded.

"Ducky left me with specific instructions to get you up and moving as soon as possible. That means that you're going to have to get up and walk around before I can leave, and I have to leave soon."

Tony rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was start moving about, but the proposition did have one good result, "I have to hit the head."

Gibbs set his mug down and slid his hand under Tony's shoulders, lifting him up. He ignored the objections that spewed from his agent's mouth. Holding him steady by his shoulder, he moved around the table and carefully swung Tony's legs around.

"Don't you have anything for the pain?"

"Advil."

"Give me some," Tony hissed, trying to shut it out.

Gibbs disconnected the IV, helped his agent slide off the table, and took most of his weight as he walked and Tony limped to the bathroom.

By the time they returned, Tony was in even more pain than earlier, and his breathing gave it away. Gibbs helped him back down on the table, reconnected the IV, and checked the bandage. "Here, take these."

Tony took the pain medication that somewhere in the back recesses of his brain, he knew wouldn't dent the agony he was in.

"After I change your bandage I have to go. I'll be back soon. Don't try to leave this basement."

"Where would I go?" he answered, sardonically.

Chapter 10

Tony lay on the table until the realization set in that he was never going to get comfortable. Gibbs had returned as promised, made him lunch, gave him more Advil, checked his bandages, changed the IV bag, and left again.

Looking in the mirror, the person staring back at him looked like shit. The bruising around his eyes had deepened and the cuts on his arms and legs were bleeding again. He couldn't stand for very long, so his trip to the head was only when Gibbs came home. He wondered what they had told the FBI. He didn't dare venture upstairs, not only because he wasn't sure he could make it, but he somehow knew the men in black would still be parked in front and the last thing he needed was for one of them to come walking through the front door.

There was one saving grace amongst all this anguish, and as he lay on the table, he stared at it: the bottle of Jack Daniels. That would surely kill the pain. He figured out how to disconnect his IV and with considerable effort, made it over to the workbench and accidentally knocked the bottle off the shelf. It hit the bench hard, but didn't shatter. Not bothering to get a cup, he took a long swig, letting it burn as it made its way down his throat.

He limped back to his makeshift bed and leaned against it, thinking about yesterday and the operation he endured. The last thing he remembered was… He shook his head because his memory was fuzzy. He thought back again, trying to remember as much of the day as possible when a vision suddenly came to him—"Oh my God!" he whispered. "She kissed me!"

After a moment of desperately trying to recall the image, he finally gave up and chuckled at the thought. It sobered him as he remembered her lips being soft, her mouth being hot, and her scent being intoxicating. That was just before everything went black.

The kiss. Ziva's kiss. Was it real? Was it a dream? Was it wishful thinking? He wanted to believe that it had happened, that his partner had actually kissed him, but she would never have done that. Gibbs never would have allowed it. Or would he?

But it did happen. She did kiss him.

Then again, maybe she didn't; maybe he had imagined it. That's probably the more likely scenario. Yeah, he imagined it all… just wishful thinking on his part.

Chapter 11

Tony was never so happy to be home. He had been cooped up in Gibbs' basement for three days and he longed for a shower. And company. And answers. So far, he knew nothing of why he had been nabbed.

The hot water pummeled his body until it ran cold. He was moving slow, but he was moving without too much discomfort, thanks to Ducky and his expert hand, and a few white capsules he had been given.

"C'mon, Tony!"

"Keep your knickers on!" he yelled from the bathroom. He dried off and dressed, wondering why McGee was pushing him. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

Tim put down the magazine he'd been thumbing through and answered, "Because—unlike you—I'd like to get to work on time. I'm not accustomed to your schedule."

"Relax, McHurry. It's good to show up late sometimes. I'm not too sure why you're here anyways?"

"Boss is worried they'll go after you again."

"And he sent you to protect me?"

"Yes, Tony, he sent me. He couldn't very well send—"

Tony stopped and waited. "He couldn't very well send who?"

"You know."

"No, I don't know. Who?"

"Ziva."

Tony narrowed his eyes, remembering. He'd all but pushed that out of his mind as a figment of his imagination. "Why couldn't he send Ziva?"

"You don't remember?"

"Not really."

McGee felt a little weight lift from his shoulders and shrugged, "Ziva sort of kissed you."

So it was true! He hadn't dreamt it! "Ah ha! I knew it! I knew it wasn't something I imagined!"

"Let's go. We're late enough as it is."

"Come back here! I want to know why!"

Chapter 12

When they arrived, the bullpen was vacant. "Where is everyone?"

McGee put his weapon away and shrugged, "I don't know."

Tony surveyed the room, then sat down, slowly, moving gingerly and inspecting his work area. Exactly as he'd left it. He opened his email and started reading. There was nothing exciting there, no cases to work, and as far as he knew, he was their case right now. Sauntering back over to McGee's desk, he asked, "Why were the dogs called off?"

McGee had waited all morning for that question, and just when he was beginning to think he wouldn't have to face it, here it came. "You'll have to ask Gibbs that question."

"Ask me what?"

"Oh, hey Boss," Tony said, slightly flinching as Gibbs walked behind him. "I was wondering why I'm no longer on the FBI's most wanted list."

"And the CIAs," McGee added helpfully.

"It helps to have friends in high places, DiNozzo."

"The President?"

"Not that high."

"The Secretary of the Navy?"

"Yep."

He didn't get any more details because he really didn't need any more details. But it didn't explain everything. "So who nabbed me in the first place?"

"Well, DiNozzo, why don't you do what you're hired to do and investigate that crime."

Tony sauntered back to his desk and mumbled, "Kinda hard to do when you're both the evidence AND the crime scene." He pulled up the case file and read it. Since he wrote it, there was nothing in it that was helpful. Before he closed it he knew this was going to become a cold case. There wouldn't be anything documented about the FBI or CIAs involvement and even if there was something, it'd be redacted. The only evidence was the bullet and he'd bet dollars to doughnuts that ballistics wouldn't produce any relevant information on it. Not even Abby would be able to trace it.

Tony leaned back and contemplated the last week. Originally he thought he was lucky that they let him live, but now he realized that it was less about luck and more about strategy. A dead body, HIS dead body, would have sent Gibbs on the warpath and the Boss wasn't prone to stopping until he found answers. On the other hand, a roughed up body and orders from SECNAV to drop it would satisfy all parties involved. So, whoever kidnapped him and beat the crap out of him and ultimately shot him, never did learn much about the Black Ops program, but maybe that was just a guise anyways. Maybe they were looking for something else; like how the three agencies responded to a mutual threat.

Now THAT had merit and was worth investigating. He stretched, still hurting from the surgery. He stared at the empty chair and tried to remember the kiss. It was almost impossible at this point. "Where's Ziva?"

McGee looked up.

Gibbs shifted slightly before answering, "She's visiting a friend."

"Who?"

Impatience showed on the boss' face mostly because he knew Tony wouldn't let up until he had answers. The very thing that made him such a great investigator also made him annoying as hell. It was useless to even try. "She's with Ray."

"Oh." Tony wasn't sure how he felt about that. He knew he didn't like Ray Cruz mainly because he felt that Ziva was too good for him.

He stared at her empty chair, unaware that they were staring at him. The kiss was still foggy and he could barely remember it. It was more that he remembered a feeling instead of the actual act. Thank goodness, else he'd probably be able to remember the operation, as well as other unseemly acts of barbarism.

"McGee?"

"Don't even ask Tony. I have no recollection of anything."

"Just verify something for me."

"What?"

Gibbs listened patiently. He knew the only person who would cave under the scrutiny of questions was McGee and that it never took much to get him to spill his guts. As he sat there pretending to read a file, he realized he was also interested in what McGee had to say about Ziva's actions that night in his basement. He had walked in on the tail end of the kiss, so there was a certain amount of curiosity that surrounded the deed.

Tony leaned forward, intently, and asked, "Did you actually eat pizza while I was lying in Gibbs' basement…dying?"

~~ Fini

**I'm forcing myself to finish several of my stories, which is why I'm posting them now. They aren't the most original nor are they the best written, and some even fall into the category of plain ol' gratuitous 'hurt porn' (which is probably why I stopped writing them in the first place), but I am trying to make them post worthy. I apologize in advance to those I disappoint; since I have fifty unfinished stories, I could be writing in the NCIS universe awhile. As always, any comments are appreciated, even the TIVA ones. I've learned to never talk politics, religion or TIVA. Happy Reading! **

**~Jasmine**


End file.
